breathing (you in)
breathing (you in)
junmyeon/zitao
nc-17
au, pwp
warnings: d/s, sadomasochism, fireplay (cigarettes), branding, very mild asphyxiation
summary: cigarettes are not the only things that they're addicted to.
a/n: so this was originally just a ~100wc drabble and then it morphed into this... thing. yeah.
junmyeon is down to his last quarter-pack of cigarettes. he tells zitao so when the younger man returns to their shared apartment from a long day of lectures and tutorials, dumping his armful of textbooks and files onto the coffee table.
"can i have one?" zitao asks, shucking off his coat and curling up into junmyeon's side where he's sitting on the sofa and watching the news.
"maybe later," junmyeon says offhandedly before glancing pointedly at the mess of papers scattered over the coffee table, adding an equally casual, "if you behave yourself."
and zitao is a good boy, wants to be a good boy, the best for junmyeon. so he clears his mess and goes to finish up the chinese history paper that he's been procrastinating on for the longest period of time. and then later on, he sucks junmyeon off against their bedroom door, clothed knees pressing into cold wooden tiling and hands folded neatly behind his back.
it's not so much him blowing junmyeon as junmyeon fucking his mouth. but zitao isn't going to complain, not when junmyeon is tugging so hard at his hair in the way that zitao likes; choking him with his cock, hips pistoning forward harshly. zitao is already feeling lightheaded after the first few thrusts, jaw slack and eyes fluttering shut, sparks of arousal skittering through his body with every rough slide of junmyeon's cock against the inside of his throat and mouth. he can feel tiny bruises forming where junmyeon's fingers are digging into his jaw, and his throat and scalp are going to be sore for hours afterwards but it'll all be worth it in the end when junmyeon strokes his hair and coos at him that you were such a good boy for me today, weren't you zitao?
he whimpers softly when junmyeon suddenly pulls out of his mouth, body lurching forward as his head follows the motion of junmyeon's hips. "so eager," junmyeon laughs, thumb coming to rub over zitao's swollen bottom lip. he crosses the room, kicking off his jeans and boxers along the way, and rummages through their bedside drawer.
since junmyeon had not given him any explicit instruction to move, zitao stays kneeling on the floor; waiting impatiently, fingers twitching where they're clasped behind his bare back and cock straining against the front of his jeans. he all but cries with relief when junmyeon turns, tossing him a bottle of lube and motioning with his chin for zitao to get onto their bed. "prep yourself."
zitao scrambles to comply; hands fumbling as he unzips his jeans and tugs them off together with his boxers, lying back against the mattress as he slides a slick finger into himself. through the haze of arousal clouding his mind, he hears the click of a lighter, feels the bed dipping in the middle as the heady scent of burnished tobacco fills the air. knows that right now, junmyeon is watching him intently with a menthol light clamped between his lips; that right now, what junmyeon wants is for zitao to put on a show for him.
and put on a show zitao does, arching his back sharply with each thrust in of his fingers, lips parted and letting out the breathy whimpering noises that he knows junmyeon likes him making. one finger, two, then three, pressing hard into his prostate so that shocks of pleasure jolt up his groin. junmyeon shifts even closer, leaning forward so that the smoke he exhales settles in heavy wisps around zitao, gaseous toxins and burnt stardust seeping into pores and curling into heaving lungs.
there's sweat trickling into zitao's eyes from his now-unkempt hair, beading in droplets on his eyelashes, and through the veil of liquid and black strands, zitao sees that junmyeon's smoked his first cigarette down to the filter. he reaches for a second one, lighting up and leaning back down over zitao's torso. zitao takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as he waits.
they've done this countless times before, heat searing patterns into trembling flesh, but the first touch of ignited tobacco to skin always hurts like hell.
zitao bites back a scream, fingers stilling in their movements and tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. it hurts, it really hurts, but he knows that junmyeon would never harm him beyond the boundaries that they'd set. trusts junmyeon to know where both of their limits lie and not overstep them; to have total control over zitao.
"did i tell you to stop?" junmyeon's voice is chillingly pleasant with an undertone of steel in it. he grazes the tip of the cigarette over a half-healed burn from their last scene and zitao cries out. "i expect an answer, zitao."
"n-no," another cry, zitao's eyes rolling back so that only the whites are visible, junmyeon pressing the cigarette down even harder so that a blister starts to form on zitao's hip. "i'm sorry, hyung, i'm sorry-"
satisfied with his reaction, junmyeon leans back onto his calves, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips and taking a deep drag. grabbing a fistful of zitao's hair, he yanks the younger man up from the mattress and presses their lips together, forcing his exhale of mint-tinged smoke down zitao's throat while trailing the lit end of the cigarette across the expanse of tanned skin beneath his fingers.
zitao whimpers into the kiss, swallowing the bitter fumes as he continues rocking his hips down onto his fingers, never mind that his hand is trapped awkwardly between his and junmyeon's bodies or that white-hot cigarette ash is crumbling down his torso, because the discomfort and pain arouses him even more.
they exchange breaths, wisps of noxious poison slipping down throat, until the cigarette burns down to the end. letting go of zitao's hair, junmyeon pushes him back down onto the mattress and reaches over, flicking the cigarette butt into the glass jar they use as a makeshift ashtray.
zitao gasps at the sudden movement, chest heaving and fingers sliding out from his slick entrance to rest against the inside of his thigh. the fresh burn marks across his chest and stomach throb harshly, wet and stinging where his cock is leaking pre-come onto his skin. he wonders hazily if junmyeon is going to fuck him yet, although that thought is quickly erased when he looks up to see junmyeon lighting up yet another cigarette.
"your skin still looks a little too bare doesn't it, taozi?" junmyeon murmurs through an inhale of tobacco, gaze raking over zitao's naked body in a way that makes zitao feel like he's being peeled apart, splayed out for junmyeon's eyes alone.
he shivers a little, croaking out a hoarse, "if you say so, hyung."
a deep drag, a smoke ring blown into zitao's face; junmyeon tapping at his bottom lip in contemplation. "i should do a little more, shouldn't i?"
small, slender fingers stroke the rough scar tissue over zitao's left hipbone: property of kim junmyeon, it reads. junmyeon had seared the words into his skin about two years ago, a little while after they'd started this whole new dynamic of their relationship; burning deep enough into the flesh so that it would scar over permanently, deep grooves in the shape of junmyeon's neat script.
it still hurts occasionally, especially when zitao wears his jeans too low, but he likes having it; a permanent reminder of junmyeon, of who he belongs to. the thought of finally having new marks, ones that would hurt at every tiny movement for the first few days before healing, sends a shiver of arousal up zitao's spine.
"taozi," and junmyeon's bending down to press a kiss to the tip of zitao's cock, the younger man whining in embarrassment as his hips buck upwards uncontrollably and a spurt of sticky, clear fluid glosses over junmyeon's lips prettily. junmyeon smirks as he sits back up, slowly licking zitao's pre-come off his lips, "be good."
his tone is light, barely admonishing, and zitao thinks that it makes the sting of the cigarette on his skin even more of a shock. he whines loudly, fingers clawing at crumpled white sheets when junmyeon runs the cigarette tip across taut flesh, pressing just hard enough for it to hurt, but not scar.
junmyeon is an artist and zitao's skin is his canvas: strokes of bright red traced between jutted out ridges of ribcage, angry crimson lines cutting into and around lean muscle, mindless patterns of swirls and whorls burnt across stomach and thighs.
zitao is trembling and full-out crying from the pain and overstimulation by the time junmyeon starts trailing the cigarette over the burn marks he's already made, causing some of them to blister and ensuring that zitao will be able to feel them for days to come. the sheets beneath zitao's head are damp and his face is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat and tears but despite this, his cock is still achingly hard, even more so than before. he's not sure how long more he can last, body overly sensitised and nerves all on edge, mind already starting to drift away, wandering the boundary between reality and detachment.
vaguely, zitao registers junmyeon pulling away, the slick, dirty sounds of lube-covered hand sliding over cock, the pressure and dull ache of junmyeon pushing into him and starting up a rough, erratic rhythm. zitao's knees are pushed up to his chest and he's ordered to hold them in place as junmyeon leans his weight forward to cover zitao's body with his and rest his forearms on either side next to zitao's head, cigarette now back between pale lips and puffs of smoke circling their heads like ghostly halos.
the seconds seem to drag by, the countless marks seared into zitao's skin hurting with every hard thrust of junmyeon's hips against the back of his straining thighs; muscles twitching and arms trembling as he struggles to hold his legs up. junmyeon's pace is harsh, unrelenting, even as he dips his head down to leave bruising bites on zitao's collarbones. the multitude of sensations are too much for zitao, overwhelming him; his back is arched off the mattress, knuckles whitened and numb in the sheets and everything is a blurry mess of shocks of pain and harsh breathing and junmyeon junmyeon junmyeon.
zitao closes his eyes and soars.
he opens his eyes to find himself cradled against junmyeon's chest, small hands carding through his hair and butterfly kisses being scattered over his face. his cheeks feel tight and itchy from drying streaks of tears, and there's something sticky and wet on his stomach and thighs.
"hyung?" zitao winces, his throat feels like it's been knifed by one of his wushu swords. he moves to sit up, but his body aches all over and his head and chest feel so heavy, like there are boulders in place of his brains and heart. everything is too sharp, too bright, too much, and junmyeon, zitao wants junmyeon, needs him right now. "hyung, hyung, hyung -"
"i'm here, taozi," junmyeon says, moving a little so that zitao is embraced in the circle of his arms, face pressed into his chest. he strokes up and down zitao's back soothingly, hugging him even tighter when he starts crying again. "shh, don't cry. you were so good for me today, taozi, so so good."
zitao can barely make out what junmyeon is saying, soft coos of "shh, hyung is here" and "good boy, taozi is such a good boy" lost beneath the sound of his sobs. junmyeon is warm and his skin carries the comforting scents of minty tobacco and apple-scented shower gel and strong coffee, making zitao cling to him even tighter, arms tightening around shoulders and tears streaking hot and wet down face and chest.
the burns on zitao's skin sting so bad and junmyeon will have to apply the salve on them later on after a cold shower. they will have to put the bedsheets into the wash to get rid of the stench of stale smoke and the bits of gray ash clinging to stained white, and zitao thinks that he might want a smoke later on because junmyeon had promised him so.
but for now, zitao thinks as he curls even more into junmyeon, sobs starting to subside and body awash in the delicious afterglow of a scene as junmyeon lavishes him in praises and kisses and hugs. for now, this is enough.
junmyeon/zitao
nc-17
au, pwp
warnings: d/s, sadomasochism, fireplay (cigarettes), branding, very mild asphyxiation
summary: cigarettes are not the only things that they're addicted to.
a/n: so this was originally just a ~100wc drabble and then it morphed into this... thing. yeah.
junmyeon is down to his last quarter-pack of cigarettes. he tells zitao so when the younger man returns to their shared apartment from a long day of lectures and tutorials, dumping his armful of textbooks and files onto the coffee table.
"can i have one?" zitao asks, shucking off his coat and curling up into junmyeon's side where he's sitting on the sofa and watching the news.
"maybe later," junmyeon says offhandedly before glancing pointedly at the mess of papers scattered over the coffee table, adding an equally casual, "if you behave yourself."
and zitao is a good boy, wants to be a good boy, the best for junmyeon. so he clears his mess and goes to finish up the chinese history paper that he's been procrastinating on for the longest period of time. and then later on, he sucks junmyeon off against their bedroom door, clothed knees pressing into cold wooden tiling and hands folded neatly behind his back.
it's not so much him blowing junmyeon as junmyeon fucking his mouth. but zitao isn't going to complain, not when junmyeon is tugging so hard at his hair in the way that zitao likes; choking him with his cock, hips pistoning forward harshly. zitao is already feeling lightheaded after the first few thrusts, jaw slack and eyes fluttering shut, sparks of arousal skittering through his body with every rough slide of junmyeon's cock against the inside of his throat and mouth. he can feel tiny bruises forming where junmyeon's fingers are digging into his jaw, and his throat and scalp are going to be sore for hours afterwards but it'll all be worth it in the end when junmyeon strokes his hair and coos at him that you were such a good boy for me today, weren't you zitao?
he whimpers softly when junmyeon suddenly pulls out of his mouth, body lurching forward as his head follows the motion of junmyeon's hips. "so eager," junmyeon laughs, thumb coming to rub over zitao's swollen bottom lip. he crosses the room, kicking off his jeans and boxers along the way, and rummages through their bedside drawer.
since junmyeon had not given him any explicit instruction to move, zitao stays kneeling on the floor; waiting impatiently, fingers twitching where they're clasped behind his bare back and cock straining against the front of his jeans. he all but cries with relief when junmyeon turns, tossing him a bottle of lube and motioning with his chin for zitao to get onto their bed. "prep yourself."
zitao scrambles to comply; hands fumbling as he unzips his jeans and tugs them off together with his boxers, lying back against the mattress as he slides a slick finger into himself. through the haze of arousal clouding his mind, he hears the click of a lighter, feels the bed dipping in the middle as the heady scent of burnished tobacco fills the air. knows that right now, junmyeon is watching him intently with a menthol light clamped between his lips; that right now, what junmyeon wants is for zitao to put on a show for him.
and put on a show zitao does, arching his back sharply with each thrust in of his fingers, lips parted and letting out the breathy whimpering noises that he knows junmyeon likes him making. one finger, two, then three, pressing hard into his prostate so that shocks of pleasure jolt up his groin. junmyeon shifts even closer, leaning forward so that the smoke he exhales settles in heavy wisps around zitao, gaseous toxins and burnt stardust seeping into pores and curling into heaving lungs.
there's sweat trickling into zitao's eyes from his now-unkempt hair, beading in droplets on his eyelashes, and through the veil of liquid and black strands, zitao sees that junmyeon's smoked his first cigarette down to the filter. he reaches for a second one, lighting up and leaning back down over zitao's torso. zitao takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as he waits.
they've done this countless times before, heat searing patterns into trembling flesh, but the first touch of ignited tobacco to skin always hurts like hell.
zitao bites back a scream, fingers stilling in their movements and tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. it hurts, it really hurts, but he knows that junmyeon would never harm him beyond the boundaries that they'd set. trusts junmyeon to know where both of their limits lie and not overstep them; to have total control over zitao.
"did i tell you to stop?" junmyeon's voice is chillingly pleasant with an undertone of steel in it. he grazes the tip of the cigarette over a half-healed burn from their last scene and zitao cries out. "i expect an answer, zitao."
"n-no," another cry, zitao's eyes rolling back so that only the whites are visible, junmyeon pressing the cigarette down even harder so that a blister starts to form on zitao's hip. "i'm sorry, hyung, i'm sorry-"
satisfied with his reaction, junmyeon leans back onto his calves, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips and taking a deep drag. grabbing a fistful of zitao's hair, he yanks the younger man up from the mattress and presses their lips together, forcing his exhale of mint-tinged smoke down zitao's throat while trailing the lit end of the cigarette across the expanse of tanned skin beneath his fingers.
zitao whimpers into the kiss, swallowing the bitter fumes as he continues rocking his hips down onto his fingers, never mind that his hand is trapped awkwardly between his and junmyeon's bodies or that white-hot cigarette ash is crumbling down his torso, because the discomfort and pain arouses him even more.
they exchange breaths, wisps of noxious poison slipping down throat, until the cigarette burns down to the end. letting go of zitao's hair, junmyeon pushes him back down onto the mattress and reaches over, flicking the cigarette butt into the glass jar they use as a makeshift ashtray.
zitao gasps at the sudden movement, chest heaving and fingers sliding out from his slick entrance to rest against the inside of his thigh. the fresh burn marks across his chest and stomach throb harshly, wet and stinging where his cock is leaking pre-come onto his skin. he wonders hazily if junmyeon is going to fuck him yet, although that thought is quickly erased when he looks up to see junmyeon lighting up yet another cigarette.
"your skin still looks a little too bare doesn't it, taozi?" junmyeon murmurs through an inhale of tobacco, gaze raking over zitao's naked body in a way that makes zitao feel like he's being peeled apart, splayed out for junmyeon's eyes alone.
he shivers a little, croaking out a hoarse, "if you say so, hyung."
a deep drag, a smoke ring blown into zitao's face; junmyeon tapping at his bottom lip in contemplation. "i should do a little more, shouldn't i?"
small, slender fingers stroke the rough scar tissue over zitao's left hipbone: property of kim junmyeon, it reads. junmyeon had seared the words into his skin about two years ago, a little while after they'd started this whole new dynamic of their relationship; burning deep enough into the flesh so that it would scar over permanently, deep grooves in the shape of junmyeon's neat script.
it still hurts occasionally, especially when zitao wears his jeans too low, but he likes having it; a permanent reminder of junmyeon, of who he belongs to. the thought of finally having new marks, ones that would hurt at every tiny movement for the first few days before healing, sends a shiver of arousal up zitao's spine.
"taozi," and junmyeon's bending down to press a kiss to the tip of zitao's cock, the younger man whining in embarrassment as his hips buck upwards uncontrollably and a spurt of sticky, clear fluid glosses over junmyeon's lips prettily. junmyeon smirks as he sits back up, slowly licking zitao's pre-come off his lips, "be good."
his tone is light, barely admonishing, and zitao thinks that it makes the sting of the cigarette on his skin even more of a shock. he whines loudly, fingers clawing at crumpled white sheets when junmyeon runs the cigarette tip across taut flesh, pressing just hard enough for it to hurt, but not scar.
junmyeon is an artist and zitao's skin is his canvas: strokes of bright red traced between jutted out ridges of ribcage, angry crimson lines cutting into and around lean muscle, mindless patterns of swirls and whorls burnt across stomach and thighs.
zitao is trembling and full-out crying from the pain and overstimulation by the time junmyeon starts trailing the cigarette over the burn marks he's already made, causing some of them to blister and ensuring that zitao will be able to feel them for days to come. the sheets beneath zitao's head are damp and his face is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat and tears but despite this, his cock is still achingly hard, even more so than before. he's not sure how long more he can last, body overly sensitised and nerves all on edge, mind already starting to drift away, wandering the boundary between reality and detachment.
vaguely, zitao registers junmyeon pulling away, the slick, dirty sounds of lube-covered hand sliding over cock, the pressure and dull ache of junmyeon pushing into him and starting up a rough, erratic rhythm. zitao's knees are pushed up to his chest and he's ordered to hold them in place as junmyeon leans his weight forward to cover zitao's body with his and rest his forearms on either side next to zitao's head, cigarette now back between pale lips and puffs of smoke circling their heads like ghostly halos.
the seconds seem to drag by, the countless marks seared into zitao's skin hurting with every hard thrust of junmyeon's hips against the back of his straining thighs; muscles twitching and arms trembling as he struggles to hold his legs up. junmyeon's pace is harsh, unrelenting, even as he dips his head down to leave bruising bites on zitao's collarbones. the multitude of sensations are too much for zitao, overwhelming him; his back is arched off the mattress, knuckles whitened and numb in the sheets and everything is a blurry mess of shocks of pain and harsh breathing and junmyeon junmyeon junmyeon.
zitao closes his eyes and soars.
he opens his eyes to find himself cradled against junmyeon's chest, small hands carding through his hair and butterfly kisses being scattered over his face. his cheeks feel tight and itchy from drying streaks of tears, and there's something sticky and wet on his stomach and thighs.
"hyung?" zitao winces, his throat feels like it's been knifed by one of his wushu swords. he moves to sit up, but his body aches all over and his head and chest feel so heavy, like there are boulders in place of his brains and heart. everything is too sharp, too bright, too much, and junmyeon, zitao wants junmyeon, needs him right now. "hyung, hyung, hyung -"
"i'm here, taozi," junmyeon says, moving a little so that zitao is embraced in the circle of his arms, face pressed into his chest. he strokes up and down zitao's back soothingly, hugging him even tighter when he starts crying again. "shh, don't cry. you were so good for me today, taozi, so so good."
zitao can barely make out what junmyeon is saying, soft coos of "shh, hyung is here" and "good boy, taozi is such a good boy" lost beneath the sound of his sobs. junmyeon is warm and his skin carries the comforting scents of minty tobacco and apple-scented shower gel and strong coffee, making zitao cling to him even tighter, arms tightening around shoulders and tears streaking hot and wet down face and chest.
the burns on zitao's skin sting so bad and junmyeon will have to apply the salve on them later on after a cold shower. they will have to put the bedsheets into the wash to get rid of the stench of stale smoke and the bits of gray ash clinging to stained white, and zitao thinks that he might want a smoke later on because junmyeon had promised him so.
but for now, zitao thinks as he curls even more into junmyeon, sobs starting to subside and body awash in the delicious afterglow of a scene as junmyeon lavishes him in praises and kisses and hugs. for now, this is enough.